


oblivioni traditæ

by mariokartprince (technicalViolist)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Small Character Study, Tatooine, Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicalViolist/pseuds/mariokartprince
Summary: there is a word for those like him, for those who have lost their way, for those who have forgotten where they come from.he does not know it.





	oblivioni traditæ

there is a word for those like him, for those who have lost their way, for those who have forgotten where they come from.

he does not know it.

 _____

he stands surrounded by the same face on some backwater desert planet in the mid rim. there isn’t much going on – the garrison has just finished cleaning up what few droids there were on this planet, and now everyone is simply waiting for their next mission. distant laughter reaches him -  he’d normally be joking around with the rest of the men, but for some reason, he can’t find it in him to do so.

he tilts his head up to the sun and clenches his jaw. he _knows_ deserts like this and – it _burns._

it’s familiar, all of it – sweltering heat, endless shifting sands, blinding sunlight - and he can sense (but not see) an ancient society of survivors; desert warriors that fight with pride and honor and dream of a time long past and long coming when water flows generously from the sky but,

they’ve all dried up in an ocean of death that spares no one and nothing.

he pulls at his hair in frustration because there are _words_ and _rites_ and things he must say, respects he must pay and he is slowly going mad because he _cannot remember –_

_____

he stands surrounded by durasteel and concrete and a bustling population that never sleeps, and he is restless, caged.

the weather here is carefully monitored and controlled. nothing strays outside a 20-degree range of temperature and light rain. seasons on coruscant are mild things, never dipping below cool and never rising above mildly hot. the weather accounts for the mild temperature range that most species must be in to survive. too cold or too warm, and people will start to die. though the control is necessary, it’s unnatural.

whenever he grows too restless in this artificial environment, he finds himself missing scorching double suns and a sea of blinding gold. he longs for the wildness of a land that would kill you quickly and without mercy; he longs for a hidden culture built in pieces in between _yes, master_ and _no, master._ there was a language he’d learned, rituals he’d practiced, lessons taught. these made him who he is, defined his very being. he can hardly remember any of it.

his spirit is a wild, unrestrained thing, born from sandstorms and krayt dragons. he is not built for this repressed world.

he knows that he’d rather spend the rest of his life meditating before he willingly went back to tatooine. he’d rather die slowly and painfully before he went back to being a slave but – he can’t help but miss what he once had. he hates it, but somedays he finds himself muttering words he’s forgotten the meanings of and humming tunes he’s forgotten the words to. he remembers just enough to hate how much he can’t remember, all while wishing he’d never known anything at all. and isn’t that ironic?

**Author's Note:**

> this might get longer. i intend for it to be longer but can't think of anything substantial quite yet


End file.
